Under A Pink Sky
by genericpsuedonyms
Summary: It was Marius and Cosette's engagement party and all Enjolras wanted was to forget the past three years and go home. Instead, he found himself locked up on the roof, trying to convince an incredibly drunk girl not to jump. E/E, M/C. Modern AU.
1. Chapter 1: 8:30-9:00 pm, Fri, June 5

AN: Just thought of this one day while writing something else. Reviews are my crack. Let me know if I should continue.

Chapter One: 8:30-9:00 p.m., Friday, June 5

* * *

The first thing Enjolras noticed about her was the chipped green and purple nail polish. The second was the row of empty shot glasses in front of her. That alone should have been enough to tell him she was trouble.

* * *

Marius and Cosette's engagement party was in full swing. Courfeyrac had just finished regaling the crowd with the syrupy, yet charming tale of the couple's first meeting. And being the silver-tongued fox he was, Courfeyrac had tactfully avoided mentioning the inseparable lovebirds had met a mere six months earlier.

With full stomachs and wine on their breaths, the rest of the group had already begun harassing Cosette's friends. Grantaire was the worst, singing some Edith Piaf song at the top of his lungs as Jehan, Feuilly, Bousset and Joly howled in off-key harmony. Combeferre had disappeared ages ago, probably to help with something behind-the-scenes, and he had spotted Bahorel canoodling with someone just outside the bathroom.

From Gabriel Enjolras' vantage point, it was clear his friends had done fine without him.

Cafe Musain was unrecognizable. By day, the coffee shop, conveniently located equidistant from the university and the theater center, overflowed with students, writers and artists. Traditionally, Musain did little with its interior, its stark white walls offset by grubby wooden tables and chairs—most of which were beset by odd stains and grit lodged deep within the grain. The clientele hardly cared; the coffee was tolerable and cheap, and the Wi-Fi was free.

But tonight, the lights had been dimmed and a string of Japanese paper lanterns bathed the normally spartan shop in a romantic haze. The floors had been scrubbed clean and the tables covered with fresh, soft pink tablecloth. And the counter where a young Enjolras had once ordered his daily espresso had been converted into an open bar.

As the designated driver—and the only one who could still walk straight—Enjolras had been charged with buying the next round of drinks. He had no intention of doing so, but he'd made a good show of collecting everyone's empty champagne flutes.

"Here," Enjolras said as he set down seven glasses on the counter. "If you could just pretend to fill these up, you'd be a lifesaver."

The bartender was a slim, dark-haired girl with a rather prominent nose ring and large eyes. An odd choice, he thought, for a gathering of admitted yuppies. Though she wore a pretty blue dress, the tattoos of roses spiraling up her left arm were more bohemian than he thought Marius or Cosette comfortable with.

"I'll do you one better and fill'em with sparkling cider," she said with a smirk. "Your friends are drunk enough not to notice."

"Thanks, that would be great."

The bartender flashed him a flirty smile. He gave her a poor imitation in return, which prompted a quizzical glance. In truth, he was relieved when she broke eye contact to fetch the cider. If Courfeyrac had been there, Enjolras was sure he would've dissolved into a fit of laughter.

"Oh, so you'll help him, but you won't help me?"

Sitting next to him, another young woman drummed her fingers against the countertop as she glared at the bartender. She was dressed in ratty jeans and a mussed up T-shirt of some band he'd never even heard of—not that he had ever been knowledgable about that sort of thing. Her long, dark hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, except for a few stray tangles that framed pink cheeks. Hunched over the bar, her head rested on her left arm and the heels of her scuffed cowboy boots were hooked around the rungs of a stepladder that doubled as makeshift barstool. It was then that Enjolras noticed the long furtive glances from other tables and stifled giggles that escaped from behind perfectly manicured hands. Whether they were directed at him—or her—he didn't care to find out.

He didn't recognize her, though it was improbable that she was one of Cosette's friends. A party crasher, most likely. Enjolras tried not to scrunch up his nose in disgust. The stench of alcohol emanating from the sullen girl was overpowering.

"I think you've had enough for tonight," the bartender said worriedly.

"Fuck off 'Zelma." She lifted her head and flashed him a half-smile. "Hey buddy, wanna buy me a drink?"

"I think you might want to listen to her," he said in his best lawyer voice, suppressing a cough as he caught of whiff of her breath. "You'll be happier in the morning."

"No. I fucking won't. I'll never be happy again."

"'Yes you will. He's a dumbass," the bartender said as she awkwardly patted her shoulder.

"He's _perfect_."

Without warning, the girl slammed her forehead against the counter, nearly causing him to jump. Alarmed, he glanced over at the bartender.

"Should...Perhaps a cab is in order...?"

"Nah, she's just laying it on thick tonight." The bartender rolled her eyes and threw him an apologetic look. "Just gimme a sec. "

Enjolras glanced back his friends. Grantaire, now kneeling in front of Cosette, had abandoned French romance for a horrendous rendition of a Sinatra classic he couldn't quite remember the title of. "No worries. Take your time."

But his feeble attempt at human interaction went unnoticed. The bartender had already hopped the counter and was rubbing reassuring circles into the drunk girl's back. "Sweetie, nobody's perfect. 'Specially not someone who hasn't given you the time of day in...the what...three? Four years that you known him? Fuck him. And her. He's a mondo douche."

"I can't," she moaned. "They're all I've got besides you and Gav. And you...you haven't graduated college yet."

Enjolras shifted uncomfortably, tamping down the urge to point out that hiring underage bartenders was the fastest way for a venue to lose its liquor license. That wasn't his job anymore. He sighed.

The night had started out so well. But Enjolras had no sooner stepped into Musain than he was bombarded with questions about the past three years—a drunk Courfeyrac had twice asked if he'd finally acquainted himself with "the carnal pleasures of a writhing woman"—and now, all he wanted to do was go home to his empty apartment and collapse onto the couch. Avoiding his friends and consoling piss-drunk girls were the absolute last things he'd had in mind when he'd set out that evening.

"There'll be others—"

"Not like him," the girl whispered. "There's never been anyone like him."

"Aw c'mon, he's not _that_ special."

"But I—"

"Tell him how you feel and get it over with."

He hadn't intended to join the conversation—he just wanted them to stop talking. The words had slipped out on their own. But judging by the incredulous looks on the girl and bartender's faces, he had crossed some invisible line.

"Jus' who d'ya think we're talkin' about?" She slurred, brushing her bangs away from her eyes. They were dark and piercing and made him feel incredibly small.

"I only—"

A loud cheer interrupted them before he could finish. At the front of the room, Marius had popped open yet another bottle of champagne and was now raising a toast to his blushing bride-to-be.

"My friends, we can't thank you enough for coming out tonight," he said, arm slung protectively around Cosette's dainty shoulders. Marius had filled out since graduation—gone was the scrawny freshman who had sought him out for advice. His shoulders were broader, more muscular, and his hair, which had once hung shaggily over his dark green eyes, was now a proper length and perfectly coiffed. The ridiculous hoodie he had worn all throughout law school had been replaced by sharply pressed slacks, a dark blue button-down shirt and fitted blazer. In essence, Marius had completed his transformation into the corporate lawyer he had sworn never to become. Enjolras was surprised by how much that saddened him.

As for Cosette, she was exactly the type of girl his own parents had always pushed him toward. Blonde and petite, she was a social butterfly with a sweet face and an even sweeter disposition. When Marius had introduced them, she had wrapped him in a gentle embrace and pressed a light kiss on his cheek, gushing about meeting the "legendary Enjolras"—a compliment that left a sour taste in his mouth. Before he could even respond, she had flitted off to greet some other guest. But up there, wrapped in Marius' arms, her smile was radiant, and the adoration was evident in her cornflower eyes.

In short, the two were perfect for each other.

"I'd like to propose a toast to Cosette, the love of my life, my raison d'etre." Marius paused as their friends erupted into catcalls, while the rest of the room burst into polite applause. "Before you, I had never given too much thought to falling in love. It's not that I didn't see other girls, it's just that I'd never met anyone who made me feel alive—"

Enjolras tried not to roll his eyes. It was more likely that Marius had been too preoccupied to notice other girls. He vaguely recalled Courfeyrac and Jehan gossiping about some girl who followed Pontmercy like a lost puppy their entire sophomore year.

"I need to get outta here."

Turning, he noticed the drunk girl stumbling out of her seat. Her face had turned a sickly shade of green and even though she had managed to stay standing, she was dangerously close to crashing into the bar counter.

"Shit! You gonna hurl?" The bartender pushed aside the step stool before looping her arm around the girl's waist.

"I don' feel so good..."

"Shh!" A well-heeled woman from another table glared at them. One of Cosette's friends, no doubt.

"Oh, no one's asking you lady."

Enjolras dropped his gaze to the floor and tried to turn his attention back to Marius, who was still blathering on, oblivious to the minor scene developing just a few feet away. _Don't make eye contact. Just don't get involved_.

"Dude, seriously. You gotta help me," the bartender hissed. "She's like a fucking log."

The girl had clamped her other hand over her mouth, trying valiantly to suppress a series of dry heaves. _Just leave them be. You don't owe them anything._

"Hey guys..." she said, voice trembling. "I think...I'm gonna be sick..."

Enjolras sighed. He motioned to the bartender to hand the girl over before tucking one arm under her back and scooping up her legs with the other. She responded by burping into his chest. Using his shoulder as leverage, he pushed his way through the crowd.

The bartender had already beaten him to the back door and was holding it open for them. In his arms, the girl shivered violently, her skin clammy against his.

"We're almost there. Just few more steps," he muttered, more to himself than to her. She whimpered something unintelligible as he barreled out into the night air. But his relief was short-lived. No sooner than he had set her down on her feet, did he feel something warm and wet gush down the front of his suit jacket and drip onto his shoes.

"Ah dude, that's fucking gross."

Enjolras turned back to glare at the bartender, who had followed them out, her face twisted in a grimace as she pinched her nose shut.

This was not what he'd had in mind. At all.


	2. Chapter 2: 9:35-10:55 pm, Fri, June 5

AN: Thanks for all the reviews, feedback and follows. Without further ado, here's chapter two.

* * *

Chapter Two: 9:35-10:55 p.m., Friday, June 5

* * *

As he carried her up the stairs, he noticed her hair, while rough and tangled, smelled like vanilla. That and she was too light. It was almost like carrying a child.

* * *

She apologized profusely for ruining his expensive suit. At least, that's what he thought she said—he couldn't quite make out her rambling as he laid her down on the couch. Not that he was particularly keen on finding out. She reeked of vomit and could barely string together a coherent thought.

Collapsing onto the floor, Enjolras mopped the sweat from his brow with his jacket sleeve. He had argued for sending the girl home in a cab, but the bartender had protested vehemently, insisting he take the girl to her apartment just two blocks down.

_"Please, please, please? Pretty please? With a cherry on top? I'd take her myself, but I can't carry her on my own," the bartender said, biting her nails. "I can't leave the bar. My boss would kill me."_

It wasn't his problem. None of it was. Enjolras had fixed the bartender with his best glare, which that had once inspired fear from his enemies in the courtroom, but was ultimately defeated by her large pleading eyes and trembling lips. _I've gone soft._

The directions she gave had been easy enough. A left at the next street and then straight until he reached 55 Rue Plumet, and then all he had to do was ride the elevator up to 14G. Simple. At least, it was until he saw the out-of-order sticker plastered on the apartment's single elevator.

He had debated leaving her there, but his conscience forbade it. The "lobby" was nothing more than a row of half-rusted mailboxes in front of the elevators, and while decently clean, the building had long since seen better days. And the lack of a doorman left him uneasy. Crime was down, but not to the extent that he felt comfortable leaving an incapacitated girl unattended in a publicly visible area. Besides, Enjolras reasoned, he was in no hurry to return to the party.

Rubbing his aching shoulders, he was thankful the girl had been unconscious for most of it. She had woken only briefly when he had propped her up against the wall to open the door. It had been a small miracle that he had even been able to fish out the keys from her pocket.

The apartment was surprisingly feminine, the walls painted in homey pastels and decorated with bright floral patterns. Lacy white curtains hung over the door to what seemed to be a spacious balcony, and the couch had been buried under a heap of color-coordinated cushions and a knitted blanket. The kitchen, though small and cramped, looked as if it had come straight out of a 1950s catalog. And the fridge was pink.

But every so often, he caught a glimpse of something that seemed out of place. An Iron Maiden CD on the coffee table. A weird abstract painting in the living room. A beat-up guitar leaning against the kitchen table.

Enjolras massaged the bridge of his nose. He needed to be getting back. He had been gone far too long for his absence to go unnoticed, and his friends needed their designated driver. But first things first, his jacket. Shrugging off the soiled garment, Enjolras grimaced. Little chunks of whatever she'd eaten had dried onto the entire front and down the right sleeve. Sighing—he seemed to be doing a lot of that tonight—he reached over and shook her shoulder.

"Miss...miss...Would it be alright to use your bathroom?"

Silence.

_I'll take that as a yes. _Fishing his phone and keys out of the breast pocket, he laid them on the coffee table and headed into the bathroom.

The bathroom was as girly as the rest of the apartment. Bottles upon bottles of skin creams, perfumes, shampoos and whatever else it was that women slathered onto their faces crowded every inch of counter space. Overwhelmed, Enjolras threw his jacket into the sink and buried his face in his hands.

This...this was the one good suit he had left, and he was beginning to think wearing it to Marius' engagement party had been a colossal mistake. He had been hoping Cosette's father would attend—Enjolras had always been a fan of Mr. Fauchelevent's work in Constitutional reform—but he had been called away on business. Instead, Enjolras had been hounded by Marius' less-than-subtle coworkers regarding the infamy surrounding his return. Hands on his hips, his eyes flickered between the bottles, his jacket and the bathroom door.

_This is ridiculous. I just...want...normal soap. Is that too much to ask for?_

Shaking his head, he marched out of the bathroom, only to find the couch empty and the blanket on the floor. He stood there for a moment, wondering where she had gone, when he noticed the flutter of lace.

The balcony door had been opened. And teetering dangerously with one leg over the railing, was the girl.

Heart dropping into his stomach, Enjolras' legs moved on their own as he vaulted over the couch and coffee table, pushed aside the curtain and grabbed a fistful of hair just as she began to lose her balance. Glimpsing over the edge, he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. There was no surviving that fall. Ignoring her yelps of pain, he wrenched his arm back forcefully, pulling her back onto the balcony before shoving her to the safety of the apartment.

"What the fuck!?"

She glared up at him as she rubbed the spot where pulled her hair. Her cheeks were still flushed and her eyes clouded.

"You could be a little more grateful."

"Yeah, well. I didn't ask you to." Enjolras opened his mouth and shut it again. "What, cat got your tongue?"

"Next time, you want to get wasted," he hissed through gritted teeth, "you might consider doing it somewhere you actually have friends."

"For your information I have _plenty _of friends."

"Of course. That's why you were drinking alone. With no one to talk to."

"Y'know what? That's none of your business."

"You _made_ it my business when you passed out at a party you weren't even invited to!"

She squinted in confusion. "What?"

"Don't play stupid."

"What the hell are you going on about?"

"Oh. That's rich."

"Listen Boy Scout," she crossed her arms over her chest, "if I want to jump off my balcony, that's my business. Not yours. I didn't ask for your help and I don't _want_ your help."

Enjolras felt the blood rush to his head. Suddenly he was back in the capital, blood squelching under his shoes as he stood over the mangled body of...He shook his head, forcing the images back into the recesses of his mind. Guilt bubbled in his veins, the pressure building and building in his head until it threatened to crush him under its weight.

"If you're so eager to throw your life away, maybe you don't deserve it!"

She flinched, and as the angry spark in her eyes died, Enjolras knew he had gone too far. He supposed he should have felt remorse, but he felt nothing other than the fury simmering under his skin.

"Get the fuck out of my home."

He didn't need to be told twice.

Enjolras slammed the door behind him, hands shaking as he sped down the stairs. Teeth clenched and fueled by rage, he flew down the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him. It wasn't until he reached the ground floor, hand in pocket and ready to call Combeferre, that he realized that he'd left his phone, jacket and keys in her apartment.

"Shit."

* * *

Later, when they were both locked up on the roof, Enjolras wondered why he hadn't connected the dots sooner. She hadn't changed so much from the days she used to follow Marius like a lost puppy. Then again, he had always been too busy to notice.

* * *

By the time he reached the 14th floor—again—the fire coursing through him had extinguished, leaving him cold with shame.

In truth, he was tired. After this, he was determined to crawl back to his apartment. His friends be damned—they would scarcely miss him anyway. They could all afford a cab. He had only volunteered because...well...he hadn't changed _that_ much in the three years he'd been away. And neither had they.

Grantaire still drank too much. That much was evident. Likewise, Courfeyrac hadn't given up on chasing after every skirt. Bahorel continued to laugh at everyone else's expense. Joly and Bossuet were very much as he left them, bickering over the same waitress. Jehan, while more confident, was struggling to finish the same book of poetry.

Some things, however, had changed.

Feuilly's business had expanded. Marius was getting married. And Combeferre—his ever-so-practical lieutenant—was done playing second fiddle. It was clear in the way the others looked up to him and in the way he stood straighter, more at ease. It had been hard to swallow at first, but he had grown used to it. And if Enjolras were honest with himself, his ego had been the root of his downfall. It had been a bitter, but effective, lesson.

Winded, he leaned his back against the corridor. He had left the city, heart blazing with righteous fury, and returned a chastened cynic. What right did he have to be jealous? It had been Combeferre who had driven down to the capital and plucked the bottle out of his hand. It had been Combeferre who persuaded him to return home and pick up the shattered pieces of his career. And it had been Combeferre who hauled him out the door earlier that evening.

He both loved and hated him for it.

Dragging his feet down the hall, Enjolras wracked his brain for the words that would leave his dignity intact. Finding none, he squared his shoulders and prepared to humiliate himself. Again. In any case, it would be over in ten minutes and then he could go home, bury his head in his pillows and forget the entire night had ever happened.

The first three times he buzzed the doorbell, he thought she had possibly gone back to sleep. By the sixth, he was certain she was ignoring him. And by the tenth, Enjolras was ready to pull out his hair when he noticed the name placard above the peephole.

_Fauchelevent/Jondrette_

Enjolras' stomach churned. The only Fauchelevent he knew was back at the party, celebrating her engagement to Marius. Scattered pieces of memory came rushing back, knitting themselves together to form a morbid picture of his ignorance. The bartender comforting the girl because the man she loved was dating her roommate. The vacant stare when he told her to confess her feelings. A half-forgotten memory of Courfeyrac pointing to a small, impossibly thin girl in baggy clothes trailing Marius in the quad.

_Who's that girl following Pontmercy?_

_Her? Oh. I forget. Bahorel calls her "The Shadow."_

_Stop it both of you. I'm working._

_Enjolras, don't be a spoilsport._

"Shit."

He banged on the door three times, ignoring the agitated shouts from the neighbor in 14H. When there was no answer, he debated the merits of running down—again—to find a police officer versus ramming the door down with his shoulder.

Pressing his ear against the door, he could hear the sound of a phone ringing, followed by the blip of an answering machine. Enjolras cursed under his breath. Either she slept like a log, or she had left after he'd stormed out. But where could she have gone? He hadn't seen anyone come down on his way back up, and the elevators were still out of order.

"Miss!" he yelled as he pounded on the door. "He isn't worth it! Marius is not worth taking your life over!"

No response.

_I won't make it in time if I have to run downstairs_. Grabbing the doorknob in a last ditch effort, Enjolras was surprised to find it unlocked. He dashed into the apartment, bolting past the kitchen and living room and onto the empty balcony. _Please don't be dead._ Knuckles white, he gripped the ledge as he scanned the dark alley below, his eyes flickering back and forth for a body. But there was none.

The relief that washed over him was unexpected. His hand over his heart, Enjolras waited until he could no longer feel it pulsating under his fingers before searching every corner of the apartment. Her room—he assumed it was hers; the one decorated in pink florals could only be Cosette's—was sparse, furnished only with a bed and a small, plain bookcase. Aside from her clothes scattered across the floor, there was little to suggest that anyone actually lived there.

Defeated, Enjolras wandered back into the in the living room, his eyes searching the walls for any hidden clues. Perhaps she had returned to the party. _Unlikely, you twit. You would've seen her. _

She had simply vanished. Groaning, he flopped onto the couch. Had he imagined the whole thing? Impossible—his phone and keys were still on the coffee table, right where he'd left them. _You've done all you can_, Enjolras thought bitterly. As it was, he was a sitting in a stranger's home and couldn't stay. He'd had enough of scandal and infamy for one lifetime. And besides, the only person who could possibly give him any answers was back tending the bar at Musain.

His phone buzzed on the table, shaking him from his thoughts. Enjolras frowned. He had missed four calls from Combeferre and an extremely drunk text from Grantaire, and to top it all off, the batteries were nearly dead. Stuffing the phone in his pocket, he was about to call it a night when he noticed a hastily scrawled note tucked under his keys. The paper was damp to the touch, the ink smudged and runny.

_Cosette—_

_I flew home. Tell Gav and Zelma not to cry. Don't blame yourself. I love you all. _

_—E_

Crumpling the note into his fist, Enjolras didn't bother closing the door as he ran out of the apartment. He charged down the corridor, forcing himself to ignore the sharp pain in his side as he opened the door to the staircase. _You idiot. You didn't see her on your way down because she didn't go down. She went up._

If she jumped, he'd never be able to look himself again. He'd never be able to face his friends again either. Not when he could have done something. His limbs felt heavy with dread. Without them, he was nothing but another failed idealist nursing a broken dream.

As he raced past the 20th floor, fear wrapped its fingers around Enjolras' heart. At the 25th floor, he wondered if there was a point in trying. And when he finally reached the 30th, he fell to one knee, his breathing ragged and pained.

The door to the roof had already been propped open with a rusted pipe. And there, sitting on the roof's edge, peering down at the street below, was the girl.


	3. Chapter 3: 10:55 pm-midnight, Fri June 5

AN: Sorry for the wait; I took a little cross-country trip and then was sidetracked by NaNoWriMo. But here's chapter three. As always, feedback is much appreciated :). Thanks to everybody who's reviewed, favorited and followed thus far.

Chapter Three: 10:55 p.m.-midnight, June 5-6

* * *

When she was upset, he noticed she had a tendency to stick out her lower jaw. Enjolras only picked up on that particular habit because, he realized, he was remarkably talented at pushing her buttons.

* * *

"Are you insane?"

She didn't hear him. Gasping for air, Enjolras staggered forward, his foot accidentally catching on the pipe against the door. His legs burned with every step, but he didn't stop until his arms had hooked around her waist and he was pulling her back from the ledge. She thrashed violently as he lifted her off her feet, kicking and wriggling in a furious attempt to fight him off.

"Get offa me!"

"I-I'm only trying to _help _you!" He grunted, dodging a flailing arm aimed for his head.

"I don't _need _your help! Now. Let. Me. Go!"

"_Fine._"

He dumped her unceremoniously on her behind. He didn't even bother to hide his satisfaction as she sputtered protests and curses up at him.

"What the hell is your problem?"

"MY problem? I'm not the one trying to fling myself off buildings."

"You've got no right to judge—I don't even know you," she sneered. "So why don't you just mind your own business and leave me the fuck alone."

"Gladly. As soon as you check yourself into a hospital and seek professional help."

"Are you for real? You've got to be kidding me."

"No, I'm not 'kidding' you. This is the second time you've tried to kill yourself tonight! I don't know what your deal is and frankly, I don't care. But there is no way I'm going to sit here and watch you die!"

She gaped at him, jaw dangling and eyebrows furrowed. Enjolras wasn't sure why he even bothered arguing with her. He rarely made the effort to help those who had no interest in helping themselves. And yet, he was compelled to do so.

The quiet between them stretched like an invisible barrier, until all he could hear was the honking of car horns below. Illuminated by the moonlight, the girl seemed to stare right through him. Enjolras fidgeted under her relentless gaze and was relieved when, after a time, she stopped, closed her mouth and sighed.

"Okay."

"What?"

"You deaf? I said," she cocked her head to the side, "o-kay."

The girl picked herself up off the floor, flicking off gravel and dust from her jeans. She was prettier than he remembered, now that she was somewhat sober. Not in the same way as Cosette, who in Jehan's words was as "ebullient as the dawn." It was an apt description, though in Enjolras' opinion, somewhat lacking in grace. No, if Cosette was the morning sun, then this girl was dusk, dark in her allure and mysterious in temperament. Where Marius' fiancee radiated warmth, the girl reflected cool indifference.

"Just like that?"

She nodded firmly. "Just like that."

"You're not going to fight me."

"Nope."

"I don't believe you."

The girl shrugged. "Believe what you like. I'm done arguing with you."

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, studying every inch of her face for a sign that she was lying. Her expression, impassive and unfeeling, was marred by her puffy red eyes.

"You first."

Snorting, the girl shoved past him, making sure to dig into him with her shoulder. He stared after her. _No one changes their mind that quickly, _he thought grimly. She was up to something—he just didn't know what. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he followed her closely in case she decided to make a mad dash for the ledge.

"Wait." She stopped suddenly, causing him to bump into her back. "Why is that door closed?"

Her finger pointed to the roof entrance. The rusted pipe lay discarded on gravel; the door to the staircase completely shut.

Enjolras felt his heart drop into his stomach. "It was open when I got up here."

"No. No no no no no no." She whirled around and smacked him in the arm. "You idiot!"

"Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"You stupid, _stupid_...argh! Do you know what you've done?"

"Stop...hitting...me!"

"You've locked us up here you twat! We're _stuck_!"

"_What_?"

"You heard me," she moaned, crouching into the fetal position. "I can't believe I'm stuck up here. With _you_."

"The feeling's mutual," he muttered darkly as he gripped the handle and tugged. Sure enough, the door wouldn't budge. _This isn't happening. _Glancing behind him, Enjolras began to feel sweat coat his palms. _There is no way I'm spending the rest of tonight with her._

Using his leg as leverage, Enjolras propped his foot against the doorframe and pulled until he heard a crack. He looked down. The handle had broken off and was now resting innocuously in his hand.

"Nice going, genius."

Enjolras glowered at the girl, who was clapping slowly, an infuriating smirk on her face.

"Shut up."

"So what was the plan there? 'Cuz I don't know if you've noticed, but it didn't really work out too well for ya there."

"Do you always have to be so...annoying?"

She grinned. "I could ask the same of you."

Blood rushed to Enjolras' head. At his sides, his fingers itched to either strangle the girl or beat down the door until it gave way. Instead, he opted to let his cooler head prevail. He ignored the girl, whose eyes he could feel burning into his back, as he crouched to examine the hole where the door handle had once been.

It had come clean off, and despite the dim lighting, he could make out the signs of rust along the edges where the metal had twisted off. Enjolras' heart sank. Half-heartedly, he stuck the handle back into the hole.

"Give it up. You're never gonna be able to reattach that thing," she said in a sing-song voice.

"Yeah, well I don't see you helping."

"Trust me buddy, that lock can't be picked. At least, not with the crap you have in your wallet."

He looked back to find her rifling through his credit cards, his wallet discarded on the ground. Patting his pockets, he panicked as he realized what she had done.

"Give that back," he said sharply.

"Relax, Boy Scout," she said as she picked up his wallet, stuffed the cards into their rightful place and tossed it back to him.

He caught the wallet easily. Opening it, he breathed a sigh of relief as he checked all his cards. "Don't _ever_ do that again."

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't take anything. You're too poor anyway."

"That's not the point."

"I remember you now," she said softly, ignoring his last remark. "You were the leader of that group Marius was in. The one with all the annoying pamphlets."

He chuckled. It was only fitting that she remembered him that way. "That was a long time ago."

"You never visited after graduation. Marius was sad about that."

That struck him as a surprise. He and Pontmercy had never been particularly close. If anything, their friendship had been marked more by their arguments than anything else. And while he often missed Combeferre's calming presence, or Courfeyrac's cheerful banter, he had very rarely found himself thinking of Marius in the capital. But perhaps the cheerful lawyer had seen it differently. The thought left him uneasy.

"Marius was always sentimental."

"You look different now."

He paused. "How so?"

"More tired. Older. Less..." she waved her hands around, "less...invincible."

His laugh came out as a bark, bitter and full of spite. "I was never invincible."

"I don't suppose you remember me," she said, kicking at the gravel. "I don't suppose he ever talked about me."

She tried her best not to look at him as she waited for his answer. Enjolras breathed deeply through his nostrils. "He and I...didn't talk much about personal matters," he said diplomatically.

It was her turn to laugh bitterly. "Of course he didn't."

* * *

In an odd way, she reminded him of Javert. They were both difficult, secretive and single-minded in their pursuits. The main difference was she had failed, at least twice, where his old boss had succeeded.

* * *

They hadn't spoken much over the last hour. She had stayed huddled close to the door, while he paced around in circles. There wasn't much of a point. The party would end at midnight and Cosette would arrive home soon after. His jacket and keys were still in the apartment. Their friends would figure it out soon enough. After all, he had.

At least, that's what he hoped.

The air was chilly for June, and every so often, he found himself rubbing his arms to keep warm. The view from the roof was actually quite pretty. He had never bought into the charms of his hometown, especially when the capital was so rich and steeped in history. But peering out over the roof ledge, the lights covered the city in a blanket of electric stars. To the east, he could make out barges sailing on the coast, drifting like tiny beacons in the darkness.

He would have much rather enjoyed the view under different circumstances, however. Ever since...the incident...he had grown rather wary of tall buildings.

"Breathtaking, isn't it?"

She had sidled up to him without his noticing, resting her forearms on the ledge. She wore a thoughtful expression on her face, though he could tell by the way her shoulders slumped that she was just as tired as he was.

"I like to come up here at night and think. Usually when Cosette's on the phone with Marius."

Again with Marius. Enjolras stifled the urge to clear his throat. He had never been in love and from everything he had seen, he didn't understand the preoccupation with finding it. His mother had despaired of him; his father thought him less than a man. They were mistaken. He was simply driven.

Enjolras was not unfamiliar with the "carnal pleasures" of a woman, as Courfeyrac had so vulgarly put it. The difference was that it was not necessary. He did not enjoy women flouncing about, batting their eyelashes for his attention. Sitting through dates in restaurants he didn't like, listening to someone prattle about their fictional likes and dislikes was a waste of time. He liked his friends. He valued them immensely, and it was for their sake that he socialized at all. But he did not enjoy carousing, "getting a drink" with the boys at the pub or watching sports. He tolerated it.

"You don't talk much do you?" He grimaced as she poked him in the side. "You need to loosen up."

"Forgive me if I'm not inclined to small talk."

"Yeesh. I forgot what a killjoy you are. Seriously, do you always talk like that? What century are you from?"

"I am _not_ a killjoy."

"Right." Her mouth was twisted in a half-smirk. "And I'm the Princess of France."

"France hasn't had a monarchy since 1870."

"See," she said with an impish grin. "Killjoy."

"You're in a better mood."

"Perhaps." She turned her gaze back to the city. "Who knows. Once you're gone, I may decide it's not worth it and fling myself into the abyss. After all," she laid a hand dramatically against her forehead, "my heart has been rent asunder and no mortal soul on this Earth can mend it."

Enjolras scowled, causing her dissolve into a fit of giggles.

"I was _joking_. Ease up, Mr. Roboto."

"I don't find the subject of suicide particularly funny."

She paused then, and Enjolras thought he saw a flash of doubt in her eyes. He didn't care if he offended her. She had given him enough grief for a lifetime. In fact, at that moment, she was the absolute last person he wanted to be stuck on a roof with.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I do stupid things when I'm drunk."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She wasn't looking at him, opting instead to gnaw on her nails.

"That's not good enough. Marius is not a bad person. Neither is Cosette. They would have been devastated by your loss."

"I wasn't gonna do it, y'know. Not really."

"Could've fooled me."

"Wow, Mr. Perfect," she sneered. "I didn't know you cared."

"Do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Use jokes to make light of something serious."

"Do _you_ always do _that_?"

"What?"

"Make someone feel like an ass while they're trying to apologize."

"Depends. Do you normally blame your behavior on alcohol?"

"Wow. What died and crawled up your butt?"

"What are you, a _child_?"

"It beats being a stuck-up prick!"

"I have _had_ it with you!" He roared, silencing her next protest with the ferocity of his glare. "I have spent the last _two-and-a-half hours_ of my life trying to help _you_. First, you puke up your dinner on my last good suit. Then I have to haul you up 14 flights of stairs to your apartment because your fucking elevator is broken. I turn my back for just one second, and you're trying to jump off the balcony ledge!

"What was I supposed to do? Leave you there? Your friend left you in my care. What was I supposed to tell Cosette? To Marius? Oh, sorry. I let her jump because she didn't want my help? I didn't ask for this. I didn't want this. All I wanted was to pop in, say hello and go home. But no. I'm stuck here, in this stupid town!"

She stared at him, her lips pursed.

"Are you done now?"

Chest heaving, Enjolras fought desperately to hold onto his rage. When he was angry, he could pretend he wasn't running on fumes. It was better than whatever it was that followed.

"What?"

"I asked if you were done with your little hissy fit."

Enjolras grimaced. "Quite."

"Good," she spat as she turned to walk away. "And for the record, you ass, just because I wasn't going to, it doesn't mean I still don't _want_ to."


	4. Chapter 4: A midnight truce

**AN:** So this chapter's a bit longer than the other ones have been so far...but I like how it turned out ultimately. Hopefully you guys will too! As always, much appreciation for the reviews, faves and follows. And of course, feedback is my crack.

Chapter Four: A midnight truce

* * *

She had little moments of brilliance. Every so often, she'd say some offhand remark that left his head spinning. Thankfully, she never seemed to notice. Or if she did, she pretended not to.

* * *

"My name is Eponine, by the way."

The confession came out of the blue, spoken so softly he almost didn't hear it. She had been sitting, huddled with her arms wrapped around knees, on the gravel not too far from the ledge. Irritated as he was, he sat just a few feet away. He told himself it was a precautionary measure. After all, she was a willful creature inclined to sentimentality, a volatile combination at best.

In any case, it was a strange name, not one he heard often. He told her as much.

"It was my mother's idea. She was a romantic."

He nodded politely, but Eponine didn't look at him. She kept her head down, buried in the space between her arms and knees. He wasn't quite sure how much time had passed since she had stalked off after their last spat, but it had been awkward. And humiliating. It felt as if he were once again an unruly child at school, wrongfully punished in the corner with his tormentor.

"I'm—"

"I know who you are. I remember." She lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes red and puffy, her voice simmering with rage. "You're the almighty Enjolras. Leader of men. Vanquisher of injustice."

He snorted. "I'm a lawyer. And not a very good one at that."

"Humility doesn't suit you. I liked you better when you were giving pretty little speeches in the quad."

"Yes, well," he fixed her with an exasperated look. "I liked me better then too."

"What happened?"

He grimaced. Everything that had transpired in the capital flashed before his eyes. The phone call. The loss of his mentor. The investigation. Losing the respect of his peers. His termination. It was still raw in his mind. "It's nothing."

Her lips twisted in frustration, but Enjolras was thankful when she didn't push the topic further.

"You didn't seem too happy at the party."

"Neither did you."

"You'd be drowning yourself in tequila too if the love of your life decided to get engaged to someone else."

He studied her carefully. He didn't have the silver tongue of a poet, at least, not when it came to women. The result was he lacked the ability to pin down the words to describe her properly. They swirled around the edges of his thoughts, lingering briefly before disappearing forever into the void. He was not Jehan, not in the slightest. And yet his eyes understood what his brain did not.

She was attractive, but not conventionally so. Her nose was odd and her mouth a bit too wide. Her face was long and thin, with none of the softness of Cosette's. She looked hungry, like she had been deprived of something all her life. Despite that, she was witty—though sometimes caustically so—and charming, in her own, very annoying, way. And she wasn't afraid to stand up to him. In short, she was everything Marius was not.

Under different circumstances, he might have even liked her.

It was for that reason her infatuation baffled him. Marius was not unkind. His heart was always in the right place, even if the way he went about things was sometimes less than exemplary. But he saw little (his obliviousness to her feelings was evidence of that) and what he saw, he took at face value.

He mulled it over in his mind, trying to fit them together in his head. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see how such an odd girl would fall in love with someone so...wholesome.

"Forgive me for being rude, but why Marius?"

Eponine blinked. "What?"

He repeated his question.

"No one's ever asked me that before. I—"

They were interrupted by a buzzing noise. Eyes wide and frozen, they both turned their gaze to his pocket.

"You had your phone this entire time?!" she shrieked.

"In case you forgot, I was a bit preoccupied," Enjolras snapped as he fumbled to get the phone out, his fingers thick and clumsy as he flipped it open and pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Enjolras!" It was Courfeyrac. "Where are you?"

"Oh thank god. I'm at 55 Rue Plumet. I'm stuck—"

"You're breaking up. Where are you?"

"55 Rue Plumet!"

"Where?"

"Who is it? Are they coming to get us?" Enjolras eyed Eponine warily. She had scuttled over and was wringing her hands, large eyes hopeful.

"I'm stuck! On the roof! 55 Rue Plumet!"

"What? The roof?"

"Send help!"

"You're breaking up man. Come back to Musain ASAP."

"Wait, Courfeyrac. Don't—" he shut his eyes as he heard a click, "hang up."

Groaning, he leaned his head back until it hit the ledge wall behind him. He didn't even bother stopping her when he felt her pry the phone from his fingers.

"No wonder. You've barely got any signal up here. And jeez, your battery's low."

Opening his eyes, he frowned. She was tapping the phone against her forehead, eyes shut in concentration. "What are you doing?"

"Shh! I'm trying to remember Cosette's number."

"Marius' number is in there. Wouldn't it be easier to just call him?"

"And have to explain why we're up here? No thank you." She glared at him as she punched in the numbers. "Why in God's name do you still have a flip phone? Aren't you lawyer types super rich?"

Enjolras scowled. Once upon a time he had been among the worst of them, his nose buried in a smartphone at all hours of the day. Work had necessitated it. He didn't have that excuse anymore. Unemployed and penniless, who did he know in this city outside a handful of friends? No, the "mighty" Enjolras had returned home and opted for the cheapest option available.

After a minute her face fell and she shut the phone, wordlessly handing it back to him.

"Didn't pick up?"

"Nope. And she doesn't check voicemail. Ever."

"Great."

"Text your friend. The responsible one."

He held out the phone to her again. "Best you do it...I'm not...good with these things. His name is Combeferre."

She made a show of sighing but with a few keystrokes the electronic missive was sent and the phone back in his pocket. "I sent it to everybody in your address book. Now what?"

He shrugged. "Now we wait."

* * *

She didn't like the quiet. Enjolras deduced that much by the way her fingers twitched every so often and the furtive looks she sent his way when she thought he wasn't looking. In between arguments, she peppered him with inane questions that made him grit his teeth.

But honestly, he didn't like the quiet either.

* * *

"Your friends are taking way too long."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. It was her fifth outburst in ten minutes. He was beginning to think he liked her more when she was drunk and unconscious. At least then she was quiet.

"Give it time."

"It's already been half an hour," she said, raking her hands through her hair. "Musain is a 10-minute walk from here! Ten minutes!"

"You forget the elevator isn't working. Half of them are probably drunk out of their minds. Give it time."

"Ughhh...so we're stuck here?"

"It would seem so."

"And your battery is...at what?"

"I'd rather not look. It'll drain what's left."

"And no response to the texts?"

"None."

She plopped down next to him conspiratorially. "You're taking this pretty well."

Rolling his eyes, Enjolras stood up, brushed the dirt of his pants and walked back toward the door. There would be no opening it from their end, of that he was sure. But futile as his efforts would be, it beat the alternative. Bending over, he picked up the door handle, which had tossed off to the side earlier, and eyed the broken lock.

"You really know how to make a girl feel special."

He didn't answer. Crouching, he poked at the gaping hole with the end of the handle. He tried not to think of his bed. The mattress was lumpy and the springs creaked, but he would have given anything to be nestled in his sheets, drifting away to a dreamless slumber.

Enjolras let out an indignant huff. He had been in the middle of another job application when Combeferre and Grantaire had knocked earlier that evening. It wasn't much—a junior position at a rinky-dink firm on the shadier side of town—and he was definitely overqualified. But Courfeyrac had put in a good word for him and they were probably desperate enough to overlook his recent, well-publicized failings.

He'd protested, first reasonably and then more vehemently, as Grantaire wheedled and coaxed. His pleas had fallen on deaf ears; being sentimental was not in Enjolras' nature. But he had finally agreed to go when Combeferre pointed out the party would be full of lawyers and perhaps even Cosette's father, the mysterious Mr. Fauchelevent.

That had piqued his interest—enough to go and endure a few hours of pointless small talk and gossip. He had only recently discovered the man was behind many of the more well-known anti-poverty initiatives in the capital, even though Enjolras had long been an admirer of Mr. Fauchelevent's work championing human rights. At the party, there had even been talk Cosette's father had once been the mayor of a small industrial town not too far from the city.

But something didn't fit. He could have sworn he'd heard the name somewhere else. It had bothered him the entire evening, up until Grantaire had demanded he buy another round of drinks. The rest...after that...well... Enjolras dropped the handle again and buried his face in his hands.

"I told you, there's no fixing that."

She had walked over and was now leaning on the wall next to the door, pretending to clean the dirt from under her nails.

"I know."

"Well then, you could've saved yourself a lot of grief."

He turned around, fixing her with a withering glare. "What would you have me do?"

"For starters, you could quit giving me the stink eye," she said, pushing off the wall and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well, maybe I'd be more amiable if—"

"Look," she raised her voice. "I didn't come over here to pick a fight. I get it. You don't wanna be here. You don't like me. I was stupid. You're pissed. Fair enough. But you're stuck here with me until one of your friends or Cosette or the janitor or whoever finds a way to open that door. I'm not asking you to marry me, but would it kill you to be a little bit less of a jerk?"

Enjolras bristled as he felt his cheeks warm. Breaking off eye contact, he kicked at the gravel under his shoe. He'd been the one to drag her home. He'd been the one to save her life. Twice. She was supposed to be the one feeling ashamed, not him.

"Seriously, dude?" She stared, her mouth half-twisted in disappointment. "I know I can be a huge pain, but you could at least give me points for trying."

"Your efforts are...duly noted." He flinched as soon as the words left his mouth. "And appreciated," he added hastily.

She studied him for a moment, eyes flickering across his face. Then without warning, she grinned and stuck out her hand. "Truce?"

Her fingers were long and tapered with calluses near the tips, and under the moonlight, it almost seemed as if they belonged to a ghost. Glancing up, he saw her smile had begun to falter.

_Don't be an ass. _Sighing, he slowly extended his hand toward hers. She beamed up at him, the worry disappearing from her face as his fingers slowly engulfed hers. It sent shivers up his spine.

"Truce."

* * *

She was pretty when she cried. It was an odd thought. Her eyes were bloodshot and watery, her face splotchy. But her tears fell freely. And honestly. In a way that his hadn't since childhood. Not even when he had lost everything. He envied that.

* * *

They stood side-by-side, squinting over the ledge at the streets below. The aim of the game was to try and be the first to spot Combeferre's beat-up white Corolla or Marius' silver BMW—the two most likely cars that would be coming to their rescue. There was no real prize for the winner, though Enjolras supposed they'd both be winners once they could go home and crawl under the covers.

It wasn't terribly exciting. Only three cars had passed down that street over the last 20 minutes, all of them nothing more than tiny dots. He rubbed his eyes. It was past midnight, meaning he'd been up for more than 17 hours. Leaning forward onto the ledge, Enjolras shifted his weight onto his forearms. His legs were like jelly, wobbly and weak from climbing up and down more than 50 flights of stairs in just a few hours. He winced—they would definitely be sore tomorrow.

"Your friends are dumb," Eponine said after a fourth car drove past. At this rate, they would be stuck there all weekend. "Really, really dumb."

"Your roommate isn't much better. But Pontmercy never did like the smart ones."

Eponine snorted. "You're just saying that to be nice. I'll have you know Cosette is very smart."

"There's a pink fridge in your kitchen."

She stole a sidelong glance at him, a lazy smirk spreading across her lips. "It's pretty awful, isn't it?"

"Horrendous," he muttered, avoiding her gaze. It made him...uncomfortable. "An abomination."

They fell back into another silence. Enjolras was beginning to notice that was the rhythm between them, their particular dance—one would provoke the other, they'd embark on a duel with words and then fall back into silence. It reminded him of happier days back when he had a purpose, of arguing in court. It wasn't like his measured conversations with Combeferre, the infuriating pep talks from rest of his friends or the politely nosy questions Marius' coworkers had lobbed his way at the party.

It was refreshing. And infuriating. But mostly refreshing. He stilled, slightly horrified as he finally understood the strange feeling blossoming in his chest.

Gratitude.

Watching her, he felt overcome by an odd mixture of pity and guilt. Eponine's head rested on her arms as she traced invisible patterns on the ledge with her finger, softly humming a familiar lullaby under her breath. Her eyes had a faraway look that Enjolras was somewhat certain had something to do with their recently engaged, utterly unavailable acquaintance.

"You know," he said, coughing awkwardly as he cleared his throat. "I am sure there are a number of men more worthy of your affections. Or at least more...observant."

Eponine raised her eyebrow, chuckling once she noticed his discomfort. "What do you have against Marius?"

"Why do you love him so much?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. I can't really explain it...I just...do."

"How eloquent."

It was strange. Three hours earlier, she had been a mess downing tequila shots until she couldn't see straight. At the time, Enjolras had regarded her as more of a nuisance than an actual person. Now...now the color had returned to her cheeks. Her eyes were still a bit red and puffy, but they also managed to sparkle with mischief.

Since their truce she had been...friendly, and on occasion, funny. She still irritated him. Her questions about his personal life grated on his nerves, pushing his buttons in all the wrong ways. Even so, he had to admit she was smarter than he had given her credit for—a fact that made her attempts on her life all the more disconcerting.

"Why do you wanna know?"

_Because I don't understand why anyone would want to die over something so stupid_, he thought, his mouth forming a hard line. "Just curious."

"Riiiight. You still didn't answer my question."

He gave her a quizzical glance, his thoughts traveling back to his days as a student. Enjolras had hardly noticed Marius the first day Courfeyrac brought him to Musain. The boy had been dressed in a ratty blue hoodie and tattered jeans, his dark chestnut hair falling sloppily over his eyes. They were on the eve of a rally—they were always busy planning rallies, it seemed—and Enjolras hardly had any time to coddle a new recruit.

It wasn't for lack of interest. During lulls, he made a point to get to know every student who desired to get involved. It was just that during busy weeks, the task generally fell to Combeferre. That day he'd shaken a wide-eyed Marius' hand, introduced himself and then returned to planning.

Eventually, Marius became a regular, showing up every week to help write and distribute pamphlets. He grew close to Courfeyrac and Grantaire, but Enjolras had never particularly warmed to him. As the heir to a sizable family fortune, Marius was too conciliatory; he was always trying to find a compromise. An admirable quality, but Enjolras much preferred to agitate. They clashed heads often, with Pontmercy usually the one giving in and making concessions.

In Enjolras' opinion, that only proved him right.

"He lacks conviction," he said finally, pursing his lips. "It frustrates me to no end."

She furrowed her brows at him. "Hold up, what? You rag on him because he _lacks conviction? _He went to almost all your protests. He got involved. How is that 'lacking conviction?'"

"He bends too easily. He's always willing to give up something to reach an agreement."

"I fail to see how that's a bad thing."

"A man who can't hold fast to his values is no man at all. Even worse is a man who vows one thing and goes on to do the opposite." He eyed her coolly. "The Marius I met in law school would have been disappointed with the person he is today."

Eponine stared, her mouth opening and closing, opening and closing, as she shook her head back and forth. "How can you say that? He's your _friend_."

"Your point?"

"I dunno," she said, her hands groping wildly in the air as she tried to find the right words. "Shouldn't you...cut him some slack?"

"It's precisely because he's my friend that I won't."

"Yeesh. You're hard to please."

"I don't want him to try and please me," Enjolras said frowning as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I want him to be his own man and stop trying to please everyone else."

"Have you ever told him that?"

"Of course. Many times."

"And what did he tell you?"

Enjolras grimaced. "He said we should agree to disagree."

"You're serious, aren't you?" Eponine asked, the corners of her mouth twitching. She leaned an elbow onto the ledge, turning to face him directly as she placed her other hand on her hip. "You actually mean everything you say."

He scoffed. "As every man should."

"You'd be surprised," she said, the playfulness in her eyes suddenly dimming as she looked down at her feet. He fidgeted. Her moods were sudden and the speed with which she slipped from mirth to melancholy alarmed him. Mouth dry, Enjolras found himself wishing he was Courfeyrac, who always seemed to know what to say.

"You know I never thought about why I loved him," she said after a beat, bringing up her eyes to meet his. She gave him a watery smile, her lower lip trembling as she tried to keep her voice from cracking. "He was just...the first person to notice me. Like really notice me.

"I got into art school on a fluke. No one liked my work, I was just this charity case no one wanted. The nobody with the tragic history. It was shit. We had this exhibition at the end of term. I slaved over every piece for weeks and...I...I was just standing around there like an idiot, waiting for someone to say something, anything."

She sniffled as she wiped away a tear with her thumb. "I was so pissed, and I just wanted to go home and then suddenly...poof! There he was. The funny thing is, I didn't even notice when he got there. He was just...there...and he said I was talented and that he wanted to buy one of my paintings. And when I told him I couldn't sell them, he asked me if I wanted to go get coffee. It was just the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me."

The tears were streaming down her cheeks now, and Enjolras felt his heart constrict as her eyes searched his. She gasped and heaved, her small body rocking back and forth with each whimper.

"How could I not love him? And now its too late...I thought if I waited...but Cosette is fucking perfect...and he's perfect and they're perfect together...and...I'm...I'm just...me."

Enjolras had no response. A small voice told him he ought to comfort her, but he didn't trust himself not to say anything stupid. He simply stood there, unsure what to do with himself, clenching and unclenching hands at his sides.

In the end, he settled for awkwardly patting her on the shoulder.

He hadn't intended for her to take that as an invitation to latch onto him and bury her face into his chest, her tears soaking through his shirt. Eyes wide, he swallowed his panic as he stiffly wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The contact made his skin crawl, but he made no effort to push her away.

There was nothing worse than being helpless. The least he could do, he reasoned, was to let her cry.

* * *

**AN:** Aw, the marble man is thawing a bit. Kinda. Enjolras is tough to write convincingly, mainly because I think he's a bit of a severe character. He's less likely to get into ridiculous situations, (and let's face it, being saddled with a lovelorn, semi-suicidal drunk girl is definitely ridiculous) than let's say, Grantaire. That being said, I think it'd take a pretty ridiculous situation to face the issues I've given him. And on that note, more on Enjolras' sordid history to come in future chapters. :)


	5. Chapter 5: 1:15-2:45 am, Sat, June 6

**AN: **Happy Turkey comas everybody. Now, enjoy another chapter of these two crazy kids locked up on a roof. I've got the rest of this thing plotted out, and we've got another 2-3 chapters depending on how everything fits, plus an epilogue. Soooo after this chapter, expect more of the juicy stuff. As always, your reviews tickle me pink and thank you for all the favorites and follows. Feedback is my crack. Feed me.

* * *

Chapter 5: 1:15-2:45 am, Sat, June 6

He almost resented the way she seemed to change every time Marius' name was mentioned. There was something that came over her—sometimes a girlishness that wasn't normally there, other times a faraway look that belied a somber kindness. Enjolras wasn't sure why, but it left a sour taste in his mouth.

* * *

They had drifted off into an uneasy slumber, him with an arm slung around her shoulder and her with one fist still clutching the front of his shirt, which was damp with her tears. He had been too tired to stay standing. She had worn herself out crying.

The night air was chilly for June. Not enough to actually be cold, but he could feel the goosebumps on her skin where his fingers brushed against her forearms. Eyes bleary, Enjolras rolled his neck, which had grown stiff, and tried to ignore the dull pain in his right hip where her elbow jabbed into him.

Above, the clouds had cleared and the moon bathed everything in an eerie, milky sheen. If he squinted, he could see a plane crossing overhead, its lights twinkling like tiny rubies against an inky canvas. There were, of course, no stars in the city—or at least none that could be seen. After all, cities were responsible for producing their own brilliance.

Below he could still hear the rumblings of urban life. It was quieter now, but he could still hear the occasional thrum of cars rolling over the pavement and echoes of laughter reverberating off columns of skyscrapers.

But on the roof of 55 Rue Plumet, the tumults of the evening had given way to tranquil quiet. There was a glorious absence of sound, save for the gentle breaths of the girl nestled into the crook of his shoulder, and for the first time since leaving his apartment, Enjolras forgot to regret.

He wasn't sure why he had woken up. His lids were still heavy with sleep and his bones ached. All things considered, he wanted nothing more than to disconnect from the world, to close his eyes and purge his mind of all thought. But there he was, sitting uncomfortably on an unfamiliar roof and cradling a mentally unstable girl.

_Enough. What's done is done._

After a moment, he let his eyes drift shut, willing his mind to slip into the land somewhere between wakefulness and dreaming. He lingered there for what seemed like a brief eternity, when he was again woken by a loud crash on the other side of the door.

"Enjolras! Enjolras! Are you there?"

And like that, the dreamy haze that had enveloped him was shattered. At his side, Eponine shifted, grumbling in her sleep.

"It's me! Marius!"

Enjolras froze, stealing a quick glance at the sleeping girl. She remained oblivious. Cupping her head with his hand, he took great care to lay Eponine gently on her side before forcing his throbbing legs to carry him to the door.

"I'm here," he hissed. "I'm here."

"Oh thank god," Marius said. "We've been worried for hours! What are you doing up here?"

"It's...complicated." Enjolras glanced back at Eponine's sleeping figure. "I'm not sure you'd believe me if I told you."

"Oh. Well. We got your text. Rushed over here as soon as we could, but...the elevators are broken and—"

Enjolras rolled his eyes. He had forgotten that Marius had a tendency to ramble when he was flustered. "Yes, yes. You're here now. Can you get us out of here?"

"Us?" Marius' voice hitched higher. "Is there someone there with you?"

_Oh for the love of god_. Enjolras bit his tongue. "Your fiancee's roommate. Eponine."

"What were you guys doing on the...oh..."

"Don't be stupid," Enjolras snapped, cheeks flushing. "She was drunk. The bartender asked me to escort her home. I obliged."

There was a pregnant pause on the other side of the door.

"But...then...how did you get on the roof?"

"She tried to—" He paused. Looking over his shoulder, he stifled a sigh when he saw Eponine was still sprawled out, albeit somewhat uncomfortably, on the gravel by the ledge. She had balked at calling Marius for help when he suggested it. Somehow, Enjolras doubted she would appreciate him telling the object of her affection she had almost killed herself over his engagement. Twice.

"Enjolras?" Marius' voice was on edge. "Tried to what?"

He swallowed, confused by the sudden bitterness that washed over him. "It's a long story. Can you get us out or not?"

"Ah...well...we're working on it."

"Working on it?" Enjolras said through gritted teeth. "What do you mean you're 'working on it?' You just have to open the door!"

"Yeah...about that..." As Marius trailed off, Enjolras thought he could hear the clang of something metallic against the floor. "It was pretty jammed. So I, uh, tried to un-jam it...and uh, the handle...it, uh, kinda snapped off?"

Marius laughed nervously. Closing his eyes, Enjolras wondered what it would be like to wrap his hands around his friend's neck and throttle him. He sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"We called the building super but he won't be in until 10 am. Courfeyrac and Combeferre are out looking for a locksmith that's still open. Cosette's called her father too. Apparently he used to do this sort of thing. We'll have somebody here soon. So you just need to hang tight."

Enjolras suppressed a groan as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Easier said than done."

"Try to get some rest. It could be a while."

_Bravo, Captain Obvious_. "Thank you. We appreciate it."

Behind the door, he could hear the scuffle of Marius' shoes against the floor and the rustle of clothes, followed by the sound of a gentle sigh. Enjolras scowled.

"Out with it Marius."

The shuffling stopped. "Is...is she okay?"

"I suspect she'll have a nasty headache tomorrow," Enjolras said slowly, sneaking another glance back at Eponine. She had rolled onto her back, her arm draped over her eyes. He considered waking her. She would probably be furious with him if he didn't. He frowned. It was a risk he was willing to take. "She's sleeping now. I don't want to wake her."

"But otherwise...she's okay? She didn't try to do anything...odd?"

"Odd?" Enjolras felt a creeping disquiet wash over him. "What do you mean odd?"

"Oh, it's probably nothing," Marius said hastily, a false cheeriness coloring his voice. "She's just been a bit down lately. Cosette and I were worried. That's all."

Enjolras felt his heart sink into his stomach. This time, when he looked back at Eponine she had rolled onto her other side so that her back was facing the door. _You knew she wasn't well, you ass. You both knew and did nothing. _

"Hurry up and get us out of here," he said numbly.

"Right...I, uh, should probably head back down and check on Cosette. Let her know Eponine's okay. She was really worried."

"That's probably a good idea."

"...Are you gonna be alright?"

Enjolras clenched his fists. "Don't worry. I'll make sure she's okay."

After a few minutes, he heard Marius sigh, and then the pitter patter of feet as his friend bounded down the stairs.

Eponine hadn't moved. Her back was still toward him. But now, he could see that her breathing was ragged, her small shoulders heaving with every breath.

Turning his gaze toward the heavens, Enjolras thought back to all the times he had watched Javert do the same in the capital. He had thought it odd that one of the nation's top investigators spent so much time staring at the night sky. When he had finally worked up the courage to ask, Javert had fixed him with a strange look, pursed his lips and said, "The stars don't lie."

Perhaps, he realized, the older man had also been looking for guidance.

* * *

Enjolras couldn't comprehend her fascination with love. Conversely, he had a feeling she didn't understand his aversion to it. He couldn't imagine nursing unrequited feelings. She refused to believe he could be so apathetic to the beatings of his own heart.

They didn't understand each other, and he supposed it was only fitting that they were stuck together.

* * *

"I'm not crazy."

Her soundless sobs had subsided, and she was now sitting upright, staring at him through half-lidded eyes. Marius had retreated downstairs some time ago—long enough for Enjolras to wonder if his friend had actually been there at all. He stayed seated by the door, keeping a watchful eye on Eponine while straining his ears to hear anything from the stairwell. It didn't hurt that his position helped him maintain a respectful distance. She had already crossed too many of his boundaries. Half of him itched to ask how much of his conversation with Marius she had heard, while the other half demanded he keep his mouth shut.

"I never said you were."

She snorted. "You didn't have to. You've practically put as much distance between us as responsibly possible. Given my tendency to, well, y'know." She made a diving motion with her hand before jabbing a thumb toward the ledge behind her. He tried not to flinch, his stomach twisting.

"It's not like that," he said lamely. "I trust you not to do it."

Eponine stilled, her dark eyes boring through his. He held her gaze, even though it sent chills down his spine.

"Why? Why would you do that?"

"Because you said you wouldn't. And because Marius came rushing up here, asking if you were alright."

She grimaced, draping a hand over her eyes. "I was really hoping he and Cosette wouldn't find out. But with your nitwit friends, I guess that was too much to hope for."

"He was worried."

"Yeah, I know," she said, biting her thumbnail. "I heard."

"Tonight wasn't the first time was it?"

"No. No it wasn't," she admitted with a sigh. She avoided his gaze, opting instead to burn a hole through the floor. "I wasn't going to actually go through with it. I don't have that luxury."

"But that doesn't mean you didn't want to," he said, making air quotes with his fingers. "Your words, not mine. Are you telling me you just come up here at night and pretend you're going to kill yourself?"

She winced. "When you put it like that, it sounds stupid."

"It sounds stupid because it is stupid."

"I have people who need me. My life isn't my own to take. Cosette tries to help. She made me move in last year." She laughed bitterly. "Most days it just feels like I'm drowning and there's nothing keeping me here. So I come up here and I sit on the ledge and I imagine what it'd be like to just...disappear."

"But one day you're going to jump." The words rang hollow in his ears.

"One day," she agreed. "But not today."

"And then what happens to the people who need you?"

"They won't always need me, and they'd get over it. Eventually."

"They won't," he said sharply. "They won't ever get over it. You'll die and it will hurt, but you won't know it because you'll be dead. There won't be answers as to why you did it. At least, none that make sense. And even if there were, they'll just sit there for the rest of their lives and wonder if they could have done something. And do you know what happens then?"

"No," she whispered. "What happens then?"

"They die here," he pointed to his chest. "And then you'll have killed someone else too."

Heart pounding against his ribcage, Enjolras felt himself slipping. Emotions he had kept buried for the last six months bubbled under his skin, and yet he felt cold. He rose to his feet. He couldn't sit there anymore. He couldn't look at her. Breathing heavily, he could feel her eyes on him as he paced back and forth.

And then, just as suddenly, he felt a small hand gripping the sleeve of his shirt.

"Hey. You okay?"

Looking down, he saw Eponine staring back up at him, her expression curiously blank. Enjolras blinked. It seemed he never heard her coming. He shook his head, covering his face with his hand.

"I don't remember the last time I was okay," he said, releasing the tension in his shoulders. He felt Eponine's fingers loosen.

"Who was it?"

Enjolras could still picture him. His guarded eyes and stern mouth that hardly ever smiled. He heard the phantom shatter of glass as the metallic tang of blood flooded his nostrils.

"Somebody I looked up to," he said finally. He let his hand drop down to his hip and fixed her with a pointed look. "They might move on, but they'll never forget."

Biting her lip, she let go of his shirt sleeve. A pang of regret flashed through Enjolras, who promptly buried the feeling somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Well this is kinda morbid." Eponine laughed as she picked at the hem of her shirt. "Not exactly the kind of stuff you talk about on a first date—not that this is a first date. I just…meant…it's not the kind of thing you share with strangers."

"At this point, I'd hardly call us strangers."

Eponine quirked an eyebrow. "Acquaintances then."

He shrugged. It was a correct-enough definition of…whatever it was they were. They certainly weren't friends. Not yet, at least. "I suppose that's apt."

"Well then, acquaintance of mine," she said smirking. "Have you ever heard of the game Two Lies and A Truth?"

* * *

He was starting to understand that Eponine said more with her silences than words. Every time she deflected questions from her past, or kept the topic of conversation focused on him, he saw a little more of the girl she was desperately trying to run away from.

* * *

The game was simple enough. A person offered three statements, only one true, and the other had to try and guess which—a simple inversion of its more popular cousin. Eponine said it was an 'icebreaker,' something to help you get to know someone else better. He had agreed despite an uneasy feeling in his gut, primarily because he was eager to forget. That, and they had nothing better to do.

They sat, legs crossed, a few inches away from the door. He was tired—his little speech had left him drained—but she was the most alive he'd ever seen. For the first time that night, there was a lightness in her shoulders and her smiles came easily. And help, however slow, was coming. He just had to wait it out. Until then, he supposed it wouldn't kill him to indulge her.

"I'll go first," Eponine said. Closing her eyes, she made a show of massaging her temples with her fingers. After what seemed to be an eternity, he was about to comment on how absurd she looked when she opened her eyes.

"First," she held up a finger. "When I was a young girl, my father taught me how to pick the pockets of my classmates. I was never caught. Second: I lost my virginity while serving detention in the principal's office at school. Third: I first discovered my artistic talents when my mother locked me in a closet for three hours with nothing but a pencil after I forgot to buy butter at the store. Happy guessing."

Enjolras blanched, earning a smirk from Eponine as she laced her hands together and placed them behind her head.

"Those all sound ridiculous."

"Ah, but one of them is true."

"The…second?"

Eponine's face twisted into a grimace. "Ugh. For god's sake no. It was under the bleachers."

"The third then," he said, heat rushing to his cheeks as he coughed.

"You sure, Boy Scout?" He nodded. "Unfortunately, no. That time, I forgot to buy milk."

"…Oh."

"See the trick is to either make everything utterly unbelievable or extremely believable," Eponine said as she picked the dirt from underneath her fingernails. "Your turn."

Enjolras shook his head as he tried to digest everything he had just learned. He had breathed a sigh of relief when the third had turned out to be a lie—sort of, the actual truth had made his stomach turn—but the fact her own father had encouraged deviant behavior left him confused. Confused and sad.

"You're just gonna dump that on me without another word?"

"The aim of the game isn't therapy," she said, eyes still focused on her nails. "It's to get to know each other better. Your turn."

He scrunched up his nose as he wracked his mind for a suitable example. "But I'm not that interesting."

"Quit stalling."

"I like cookies. My favorite color is green. I was valedictorian of my elementary school."

Eponine rolled her eyes. "Bo-ring. First one."

"I told you I wasn't interesting."

"You're not trying hard enough. C'mon, you wore red to almost every protest and who crowns a valedictorian in _elementary school_? And everyone likes cookies." She waved her hand at him dismissively. "Your turn again."

He took longer this time, letting his mind wander into the corners he kept hidden from the rest of the world. After all, she had shared something real. It was only fair.

"I once stole a book from my father's library and blamed it on the maid."

"Ooh, better."

"I ate a worm in kindergarten because Grantaire dared me to. And…I didn't sleep with a woman until I was 23."

She eyed him warily, brows furrowed as she studied his face. Tapping the side of her nose with her finger, she opened her mouth and closed it again.

"I can't believe it. I don't believe it, rather. How does someone as pretty as you not get laid until 23? I mean, look at those baby blues and those golden curls!"

Enjolras scowled. "I'm not pretty. And it was never a priority."

"Don't be modest. It doesn't suit you. And seriously? Are you celibate or something?"

"Obviously not," he snapped, his cheeks warm. "The appropriate conditions never…happened before then. That's all. How did you guess so easily?"

Eponine flashed him a winsome smile. "You're a really bad liar."

"I'm a lawyer."

"And a terrible liar."

Enjolras clenched his jaw. He didn't like losing, especially to a girl who seemed so pleased to have figured him out. "Give me one more go."

"Alright, alright." Eponine raised her hands in surrender. "You get one more chance to prove me wrong."

He paused even longer this time, waiting until Eponine started to fidget under his gaze. Lips pursed, Enjolras held up a finger.

"I was a deputy state prosecutor in the capital. First: I was fired from my job for destroying evidence." He held up another finger. "Second: I was fired from my job because I failed to report to my superiors that I suspected an investigator had gone rogue. And lastly," he held up a third finger, "I was fired because I was too careless with my work after my mentor died."

Eponine shifted; her expression had gone from confident to unsure as he continued. "The last one," she said finally. "Definitely the last one."

He had to give her credit. Her voice was certain, even if her eyes were anything but. Enjolras waited until he saw her lips twitch, before letting out a big sigh.

"You got me," he said sheepishly, cringing inside as Eponine let out a huff of relief.

"I told you so. But I am sorry about your mentor. It must've been hard." She smiled gently before reaching over to lay a comforting hand on his knee.

"That's very kind of you."

He didn't have the heart to tell her he cheated. They had all been true, in a sense. But Enjolras had never been a gambling man, and if he was destined to lose, he preferred to let her choose which version of the truth she wanted to believe in.

* * *

**AN: **Stay tuned for Ch. 6, in which pasts are revealed and E/E get another visitor.

Edit: Thanks to Deep Forest Green for pointing out that my friends and I have been playing Two Truths and A Lie wrongly for almost our entire lives. D'oh. A few lines edited for correctness.


End file.
